In the morning, when the box was removed, Piloncilus was gone. She froze with fright and worry, and then began searching through her blankets, careful not to bump him or throw him out of the bed on accident.

Before she could find him, a chirp sounded from her dresser. The sound was deeper, more like a meowl, and she saw why. Little Piloncilus had grown during the night and was now even larger than the cat that had harmed him the day before. A beautiful coat of charcoal-grey fur had replaced the pink mouse-like skin. His wings were full and strong, easily five feet across.

“Pilo!” she cried excitedly. “But you said it would take hundreds of years.”

“Things are different here. I guess I forgot to take that into consideration.”

“Your voice is different. Your wounds, are they healed? Can you fly?”

A deep, bright laughter rolled out from his lengthened vocal cords. “So many questions, little one.”

“You can laugh now? I’m the little one? You’re not bigger than me yet.”

“Two more questions,” he said, laughing again. She loved the sound of his new laugh, so full and smooth. It seemed to fill her breast as well as his as it rumbled forth. “I will answer one for you if you will allow me.”

He hopped to the windowsill, nudged the window open with his beak, and leapt out, spreading his wings. She squinted as the pure white feathers caught the morning sun. Now was her turn to laugh. She didn’t know why she was doing it. Nothing was funny. It was just the wonder and excitement of the moment that drove the sound out of her, like a bucket overflowing with cold and clear water. He swooped and dove, landing and leaping of rooftops in graceful bounds.

“You’re flying, Piloncilus!” she shouted.

He landed with a thump on the windowsill. “I fly.” With one of his paws he lifted her hand and then got his head under it, nuzzling her palm. She caressed his head, feeling the feathers fade to fur and then back to feathers as she touched his folded wings.

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“You’re beautiful.”

“I am.”

Her smile faltered. “You can go back to the Upperwind now?”

“I can.”

“It will be safer for you there.”

“It will.”

“And…” The smile was gone now, and she felt emotion welling up in that same place where his laughter had filled her. “And will you go?”

“Maj,” he said. “I must return to the Upperwind. It is my true homeland and where I belong.”

He saw the blood run from her face and then return in a deeper shade as the tears formed. Tears formed in his own eyes, big black pupils lined in gold.

“You know I would take you with me if I could, but I am still not strong enough, and my time to return has come. Your time will come soon. I promise I will find you when you arrive and when you make of my home a home for yourself. I promise, little one.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed…” her sentence fell short, unable to speak, unable to think.

“You know what to do. Be for the humans here what you were for me. Protect, love, and serve them. Give them the bits of goodness that you shared with me. That’s what gives time in Lowerwind its unique beauty. I thank the Wind, Rhe and Lady Rhiva for the time they have allowed me here. I thank them for the gift they have given me. I thank them for the gift they have left in you through me.”

“Pilo!” she threw her arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. She felt her love burst through like a breaking dam, pouring over him. Her tears soaked into his soft fur and feathers. “Pilo,” she began again, but had to catch her breath. “I want to tell you not to leave me, but I know you’ll be waiting for me. It’s hard to be left behind here.”

“Remember what we learned. The limits of Lowerwind are there for a reason. Use the weights in this world to catapult you upwards toward the next. Use the pain to stretch and grow. You have a beautiful opportunity here in Lowerwind. Tufaltha is a beautiful reality, and you’ll only have it for a time. Embrace it like you’re embracing me. Embrace it until you can embrace me again.”

She released him and looked again into those gold-rimmed orbs.

“Do you promise, Maj? Do you promise to live and love the beauty of Lowerwind?”

She nodded. “I promise.”

“Then I will take my leave, Lady Maj, opinicus-friend.”

“Goodbye, Piloncilus.”

“Goodbye, Maj.”

She tried to smile through the tears, and it became authentic when he spread his wings again and swooped and dove for a few moments before taking off toward the sun. They say eagles are the only creature that can look directly into the sun.

But that was a dream.